The Masks We Wear and the Burdens We Bear
by CounterKnight291543
Summary: Yuya Sakaki is living a lie. Every night he dons a mask, performing a tired routine for a faceless crowd. He is hidden from reality, consumed by the secrecy and anonymity of the masked ball, the masquerade. Desperate for an out, he wants nothing more than to return to reality. With the arrival of an elegant and mysterious stranger, he may have found just that. ARC-V Anniversary!


The Masks We Wear and the Burdens We Bear

Yuya sat slumped against the wall of his hotel room, staring silently at the mask in his hand.

It was coloured a striking red and black, its pattern divided centrally by a single vertical line of metallic gold, creating two opposing blocks of colour on either side of its face.

He sighed and turned it over in his hands.

Only a half-mask, its mouth and jawline were noticeably absent, its wooden frame instead curving upwards just below the cheekbones and along the upper lip. The cheeks themselves were decidedly hollow, the nose that sat just above them small and inoffensive. The holes for the wearer's eyes were long and round, upturned at the corners to denote an expression of amusement or laughter.

Its paintwork was starting to fade, and it had begun to chip slightly at the corners. It had lost a lot of its sparkle over the years… just like this life he had been forced in to.

Two years ago, the theatre group he had performed with had fallen on hard times and was eventually forced to close its doors, leaving Yuya without a job. Fortunately, the wealthy owner of the iconic Heartland Tower had been quick to offer him one having been impressed with his performance in a particular play he had witnessed. It had been an impromptu production of Commedia dell'arte, a masked form of theatre originating in 16th century Italy. So impressed was he, he requested Yuya perform a nightly routine at his masquerade ball to give it a more authentic feel. Naturally, he jumped at the chance.

At first, it had been nothing short of incredible. As well as being able to perform again, he attended the most lavish of parties in the richest of settings. Situated at the very top of the breath-taking Heartland Tower, he conversed and socialised with some of the most important people in the city. The masquerades themselves were equally as dazzling. Unmatched in their mystique, their dark and mysterious atmosphere always shrouded the ballroom in a veil of secrecy, allowing him to indulge in endless nights of faceless pleasure.

It had soon gotten old, however. Unlike at the theatre, he slowly began to feel like his performances were not worthy enough anymore. Performing under the mask of a fool, he had been reduced to cheap gags and acrobatics that, although were quintessential to the character he was portraying, reeked of desperation. Worse still, the magic of the masquerade had been quick to lose its shine.

Concealment and anonymity were its biggest strengths and yet its greatest flaws. The people he met, however interesting, were always nothing more to him than colourful disguises and fancy costumes, the words they espoused often as fake as the expressions painted on their masks. Interactions were short and meaningless, the hollow imitations he spoke to lacking not only names and faces, but their own personalities too.

He had become like them, one of them. He talked, danced and acted in the guise of a character, spending every waking moment under a persona he hated. He was friendless, each night putting up a façade and praying for somebody real in his life…

Tonight, was another of those nights.

Slipping the mask back on to his face, Yuya stood up and straightened out his costume. Chequered red and green, it was the attire of the nimble trickster Arlecchino, the Harlequin.

Letting out another heavy sigh, he made for the door of his hotel room.

He had managed to sneak off for a break after his earlier performance, but he had to return quickly or else his absence would certainly not go unnoticed. He was obliged, as per his contract, to mingle with and entertain the party guests afterwards.

Opening and closing the door as quietly as he could, he made his way towards the marble staircase that led to Heartland Tower's famous ballroom. He was thankful that the room he had been given was only a floor below it as otherwise it would have been impossible for him to enjoy the odd moment of respite.

Climbing the stairs, his movement became slower and his masked expression more sullen as he neared the large set of double doors at the top. He really didn't want to go back in there. He'd had enough of the fakery for one night… and for a lifetime.

Reaching the top, he tentatively reached out a hand and pushed down on the gold-plated handle. With a loud creak it opened slightly, the sound of violins and the drawl of people talking immediately filtering through the gap. Yuya slipped on through and shut the door behind him.

He turned and was greeted by the same sight he'd seen hundreds of times before. It no longer impressed him.

Marble staircases and mahogany banisters, chandeliers of flashy crystal, gilded walls flanked by stony white pillars… He couldn't help but look past all the opulence and splendour when, for him, it was nothing more than a prison for his own identity. If this was his prison, then the guests were his guards, faceless and impassive, milling around its polished stone floor watching his every move.

Thankfully, this was more the case during his performances, but he still drew a fair amount of attention from the guests afterwards, attention he did not want or need.

Taking a deep breath, he pasted on his fakest smile and headed into the ballroom. He walked slowly amongst the throngs of people, taking in their masks and costumes as he went, trying to figure out what the people under them were really like. It was impossible to tell, with even the most symbolic of masks and elaborate of costumes providing no details whatsoever about the person underneath.

Walking further in towards the centre of the room, he exchanged greetings with a few ladies in elegant sequined dresses before taking a glass of champagne from a waiter. He was dressed rather uniquely for a change, donning a bird-like mask he'd never seen before.

That was something he was always amazed with, despite his disdain for this work. The sheer variety in masks. Every ball he attended he never failed to spot one that he hadn't seen before. Of course, the majority of guests were content with simply wearing the standard, black or white mask that was commonly worn with an outfit of matching colour. Some guests however, usually the more eccentric ones, did choose to show up in full costume, often in character. They were few and far between, as appreciation for masked theatre and performance was generally rare, with an intricate knowledge of such matters even rarer still.

Holding his glass to his chest, Yuya tried to push past another group of people, but was caught by the arm by a young lady with a white mask that resembled a crescent moon.

"Ahhh, Arlecchino," she simpered, "won't you stay a while and entertain your fair Columbina?"

He was caught.

Soon forming a wide circle around him, the group exchanged looks with one another and began to speak with him in an unusually cordial manner.

At first, their conversations were actually rather refreshing for a change, with the woman who grabbed him clearly knowing a thing or two about the theatrical arts of Italian literature. The group soon became restless however, bored by talk of the masquerade's Venetian origins.

They started asking questions, firing them at him from all angles. He tried to answer them as best he could (in character), but he had a hard time keeping up with them all. They didn't stop for a good fifteen minutes, and when they finally did, they were boorishly hollering for him to perform some of his earlier tricks, clearly disinterested in his answers. Yuya played along, his pained smile never showing a hint of dropping.

Eventually satisfied by a few flips and summersaults, they let him be.

Yuya slinked off towards one of the large pillars, exhausted. He leaned back against it, staring up at the balconies on the floor above, wondering if it would be any easier up there.

Hurriedly pushing off the pillar, he thought it was worth a shot. It was usually quieter up there, the view the observation windows provided being more than enough to quell the chatter amongst guests. It was the best (and highest) view you could find anywhere in the city.

Praying no-one would stop him again, he made for the two staircases at the far end of the room, both of them split from each other by the podium from which the orchestra was playing.

He'd made it about halfway when he heard a loud, assured voice call out from behind him.

"Arlecchino the magnificent, as I live and breathe!"

Yuya stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned around, cursing his rotten luck. Ready to put up the façade once again, he forced a playful smile back onto his lips.

"Why hell-"

Yuya felt the words disappear from his mouth and the breath leave his body as his eyes fell upon the most elegantly dressed man he had ever seen.

Clad in a remarkable blend of purples and pinks, he stood before Yuya, smirking playfully down the nose of his mask.

His astonishing outfit was highlighted by the ornate military-style uniform he wore, his mauve tunic contrasting wonderfully with the regal white of his cravat. Adorned with medals, it was decorated with strips of gold along both its hem and its collar. A large buckled sash of satin purple crossed his chest from shoulder to hip, coming to rest above the scabbard that hung neatly by his side. Draped over his shoulders was a long violet cape that stopped just short of the floor, emphasising his apparent notability.

The half-mask he wore was a dazzling shade of pink, its eyebrows high and prominent. Its defining feature though was its unambiguously long nose, dwarfing any of the other masks in the room. Yuya recognised it immediately.

"Capitano," he breathed, "what an unexpected pleasure."

He had never seen anyone dress, or look, quite like this before. He'd seen some elaborate costumes during his time working here, other Captains even, but nothing quite like this.

The man took a further step towards him, one hand now on the hilt of the longsword that lay in his scabbard.

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you." He bowed solemnly, strands of purple and lilac hair falling gracefully over the top of his mask.

Yuya swallowed.

Gentlemanly and well dressed, he thought to himself. This really was unusual.

"So, Capitano. Surely you have a name befitting of your title?" Yuya asked. Clearly the man was a fan of Commedia and the art of the masked play, so Yuya thought it best to approach their conversation in character.

The Captain laughed softly. "Alas Arlecchino, I do not."

Yuya looked at him, a little puzzled. The whole point of the Il Capitano character was to be as egotistical and arrogant as possible, and that included having a flamboyantly long name that reflected that.

Before Yuya could retort, the man spoke again. "May I ask your name?"

Now he was even more puzzled. "You know my name Captain! You spoke it not twenty seconds ago!"

The Captain laughed once more. "No no, you misunderstand. I mean your real name."

Yuya blinked rapidly.

He had never been asked that question before.

No-one had ever cared enough, never bothered to ask. People were so wrapped up in the delusion of the masquerade that they forgot that there was someone under the mask, someone behind the character he was forced to play.

"Arl… I mean, Yuya. My name's Yuya."

"A splendid name," the Captain replied, "It's most befitting of you."

Yuya smiled a little sheepishly at this new kind of attention.

"What should I call you?" he asked timidly.

"Well you could address me as Il Capitano…" He gestured at his mask and then at his costume. "…but I would prefer it if you called me Yuri."

Yuya nodded.

Yuri.

He wasn't used to addressing people by their real names. It was usually just Sir or Madam, or sometimes the name of a character. This was going to take some getting used to.

Yuri took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Yuya.

"I was wonderfully impressed by your performance earlier Yuya," he lauded, tipping his glass to him.

"Thank you… Yuri."

"Although I must say, I can't help but feel that your talents are somewhat wasted here..."

Yuya felt his mouth go dry.

"Don't get me wrong, your act is incredibly entertaining and you play the character of Arlecchino perfectly, it's just… it's clear you have skills that go beyond parlour tricks and simple acrobatics."

Yuya stared back at him, stunned.

"Oh dear, I haven't upset you have I? I'm terribly sorry-"

"No no you haven't," Yuya started, "it's just that no-one's ever told me that before."

Yuri took a sip of his champagne. "I'm only being honest. There has to be more to you than the character alone, I'm sure of it."

"Well I did used to do other stuff. I used to work with a local theatre group."

Yuri nodded as if to encourage him to continue.

"It was really fun… I knew everyone, and I could really express myself with all the different roles I was able to take on." Yuya smiled wistfully. "But when it was forced to close… I had no choice but to take the job offered to me here. I've been stuck playing the fool ever since."

Yuri reached out his arm. He placed his hand reassuringly on Yuya's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as he did so.

"I know for a fact you're much more than that," he smiled.

Yuya blushed slightly at his words, his mask thankfully covering the dusting of pink that had settled across his cheeks.

Yuri seemed so… human. He cared. He wanted to talk to him, the real him. In two years of performing here Yuya had never had anyone ask his real name, or go as far as to talk to him about his life outside the masquerade.

"So," Yuri continued, with a smile. "Tell me about this job you had before…"

And so he did.

For the next two hours, Yuya chatted to Yuri about anything and everything, the two of them stood unmoving in the centre of the room. They spoke about Yuya's short acting career, their likes and dislikes, the places they'd visited, the people they'd met…

As they talked more and more, Yuya found that he had an extraordinary number of things in common with him: their joint love of the theatre, their taste for Italian food, the sports they enjoyed watching... What struck him the most though, was that they were almost exactly the same age, a fact he never would have guessed (on account of the masks) if he hadn't of mentioned it.

Yuri was captivating. He was genuine and considerate, two traits Yuya never came across in his line of work. Of course, it didn't hurt that he was incredibly charming. In fact, it only made Yuya more interested in him. His charm came in the form of an unusual kind of confidence, not brash or overbearing, but attentive and reassuring. It made Yuya feel wanted. He found himself hanging on his every word, desperate to know more. Everything Yuri told him, everything he asked him, every detail he divulged about his life, drew him further and further in. Yuya had become rather enamoured with him.

By the time midnight came around, four glasses of champagne later, they were still talking as if they were old friends.

"You can't be serious?" Yuya giggled, sipping at his fifth glass.

"I'm deadly serious," Yuri shot back, grinning. "It's all I've ever wanted to do. Becoming a real botanist is what I've dreamed of since I was a kid."

Yuya put a hand on his heart and let out an audible aww. "That's so sweet."

Yuri laughed softly, his grin widening. "Why do you think that?" he asked.

"Because!" Yuya exclaimed. "It's adorable how from such a young age you had such a big passion that's stayed with you all these years. I can imagine you now, at like eight years old or something, reading textbooks and encyclopaedias about plants that were probably bigger than you!"

Yuri threw his head back, laughing harder. "You're so right," he remarked, "that was definitely me!"

He gestured towards Yuya. "You're one to talk though, I bet you were up on stage at school all the time for plays and performances, trying your hardest to steal the spotlight." Yuya gave Yuri a playful shove, but he continued anyway. "I can imagine you now, acting your little heart out."

"What do I look like?" Yuya blurted out, the champagne getting the better of them. "In your head I mean…?"

Yuri looked a little taken aback but was quick to answer.

"You look... happy, care-free. And, well, of course you aren't wearing a mask..."

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the pair as the two of them came to the realisation that, despite how close they had gotten, they still had never so much as glimpsed each other's face.

Yuya suddenly felt a desperate urge to tear his mask off right then and there.

Instead, he found himself absent-mindedly grabbing Yuri by the arm and pulling him towards one of the large stone pillars, placing their glasses on a nearby table as they went. Yuri didn't protest as he was led behind the pillar and into its shadow, away from prying eyes.

Once there, Yuya pawed at Yuri's hand, which he was quick to take into his own. Interlocking their fingers, Yuri gently squeezed their palms together. The feeling was reassuringly warm. Yuya looked up and stared intently into his eyes. They were a beautiful shade of magenta, glinting wondrously in the partial light of the chandeliers. They somehow shone brighter than any of the colours of his costume.

Yuya wasn't sure why he was doing this, or how (probably the alcohol), but he was desperate to see the face behind those devilish purple eyes.

"Yuri… can I ask you something?" he asked tentatively, his gaze dropping to his feet.

"Of course." Yuri squeezed his hand a little tighter.

"What are you doing here…?" he questioned bluntly. "I just don't understand why you would want to wear a mask all night, hiding yourself away… After everything you've told me I know that's not the kind of person you are or want to be."

Yuya noticed Yuri swallow.

"Masks aren't just about anonymity and hiding from your problems," Yuri started. "They're so much more than that. They can be a way of expressing your true colours, exaggerating and owning them to make life seem more exciting. Or, they can be a way of becoming something we're not, to put up a pretence and act out a fantasy. That's the very definition of a masquerade, is it not?"

"Is that why you're here?" Yuya shot back, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "To be pretend that you like me and to play with my emotions like this is just some kind of sick game?"

Yuri thought for a moment before exhaling slowly.

"No, of course not." Yuri squeezed his hand tighter. "I wear this mask, the mask of Il Capitano, because he's everything I want to be."

Yuya looked at him, puzzled.

"You want to be an arrogant, cowardly asshole that always ends up as the butt of all the jokes?"

Yuri laughed softly. "Not exactly." He soon dropped his head however and began staring at the ground, his confidence seemingly evaporating.

"For me, the mask mirrors both who I want to be and who I really am," he explained. "Il Capitano is confident and sure of himself, two things I've never been in the real world."

His voice dropped to almost a whisper, barely audible over the white noise of the ballroom.

"As for who I really am... well, he's just like me. Out there, everyone thinks I'm egotistical and mean, an opportunist that cares for no-one but himself. I can't change that perception of me, so I accept it."

"But-" Yuya tried to interrupt.

"That doesn't mean I embrace it," he remarked sharply, looking up. His eyes were a little wet, shimmering with emotion. "I try and play the character differently, to change people's perceptions of him. It gives me a chance to step away from my own faults and finally change how people see me. In reality, too many people judge you for what you did in the past, but here, I don't have that problem… I can finally change who I am."

Yuya was stunned. His view of the masquerade was such a negative one, but Yuri was using it to better himself, to do what he couldn't in the real world. He was forced into this life just as much as Yuya was, the judgements and opinions of others chasing him here.

Acting on instinct, Yuya pulled Yuri into a hug. He wrapped his arms tightly around his waist, his chin coming to rest on his shoulder. A little surprised, Yuri was slow to reciprocate the embrace. He soon responded however, letting his hands gently rest on Yuya's back.

"I don't think you're mean or uncaring or anything like that," Yuya whispered. "And I know the real you wouldn't be either…"

Yuri gripped a little tighter at the back of Yuya's chequered shirt in response. Yuya wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad reaction, but he didn't get chance to ask him.

"Everyone!" came an announcement from the centre of the ballroom. The violins had stopped playing and everyone in attendance was now silent. "The night's end is almost upon us. Please join me in concluding this wonderful evening with one, final dance."

There was a commotion as people abandoned their drinks and made for the centre of the room, the violins now starting again. They now played a much slower, tender tune.

Yuya felt a spike of panic. The masquerades at Heartland Tower always ended with a slow dance, with everyone pairing up and taking to the floor, swaying cheek-to-cheek. He was always left to watch from the side, with no-one ever willing to dance with the fool. He wasn't thinking about that now however. All he could think about was the fact that he and Yuri's night together was almost over.

Yuya felt Yuri sigh. He pulled out of their embrace and fixed his mask slightly before looking at Yuya sombrely. Their hands were still firmly clasped together. Yuri held them up and smiled.

"Would you dance with me, Yuya?" he asked.

Even though he was inwardly panicking, Yuya couldn't help but grin ear-to-ear. "Of course," he replied, letting himself be led back onto the ballroom floor.

Yuri took him to the very centre of the room. He must have known Yuya didn't have much experience with this, because he was quick to take the lead in getting them in position. Taking Yuya's free hand, he guided it towards his shoulder and placed it there. Pulling Yuya closer, he led his other hand upwards to about shoulder height and held it there. Yuri then placed his own hand on Yuya's hip, sending a jolt of electricity through his body. Smiling confidently, he started to move his feet. Yuya moved with him, copying his motions.

They danced like this for a while, with Yuya never once taking his eyes off Yuri. He never stopped smiling either. This had been the best night of his life, and he was happier than he had been in a long time.

They gradually got closer and closer together as the music went on, until they were almost pressed up against each other, simply swaying gently to the rhythm. Eventually Yuya pulled his head back from Yuri's chest and took a glance up.

"I don't believe a word of what you said earlier Yuri" he chimed, squeezing at his shoulder. "There isn't a bad bone in your body… you're a beautiful person."

"No Yuya, you're beautiful... truly you are."

Yuya bit his lip as sparks began flying in his chest.

"But… But you don't know what I look like." He gestured to his mask. "Under here I mean."

"I-" Yuri stopped himself as Yuya pulled his arm off of his shoulder and placed it on his own mask.

"Would you like to see?"

Yuya wanted to be free. Free of his mask, free of his character, free of this life. Showing his face to the world, to Yuri, was the first step in that. With his help, Yuya now had the confidence, and a reason, to embrace his freedom.

Not waiting for an answer, Yuya loosened the strap on his mask and yanked it from his face. He shook his head a little, letting a few strands of green hair fall free over his face in their usual fashion. Looking up at Yuri, he noticed that he was staring at him, his mouth agape.

Yuya blinked rapidly. It wasn't just Yuri that was staring at him. He was getting disapproving looks from the majority of guests on the floor. He didn't care, however. The only opinion he cared about was that of the man in front of him.

"I-I was right…" Yuri stammered, his mouth not closing.

"About what?"

"…You really are beautiful."

Tears began to fill Yuya's eyes as the weight and honesty behind Yuri's words hit him.

Yuri placed a hand on Yuya's cheek, trailing his fingers up and down. Yuya immediately responded by placing his hand on top of his and holding it there.

"Can I… Can I see you too?" Yuya asked, blinking away his tears.

Yuri's mouth suddenly twisted into a frown. He let go of Yuya's cheek and looked off to the side.

"Wha-What's wrong?" Yuya panicked.

"I'm a bad person underneath this mask Yuya."

"I don't believe that!"

"If I was to take it off… you'd see me. All of me. All of my faults… all my mistakes."

"I don't care!" Yuya slapped a hand onto Yuri's chest. "You can't let those faults define you like my stupid mask has come to define me! We're more than our mistakes!" Yuya couldn't halt the cascade of tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Yuri look at me," he begged, placing a hand on the side of his head. "You're not who you think you are, believe me. The real you in there, we just have to find him."

Yuya reached for the strap on Yuri's mask. He turned to look at him, fear and apprehension pooling in his eyes. He inhaled sharply as Yuya loosened the strap.

Yuya swallowed hard as he gripped the side of his mask, his hand shaking. Ever so slowly, he pulled it away from Yuri's face.

His breath hitched as his face finally came into view. He was handsome, very handsome. A little flushed, his face was a creamy white, accentuating his deep purple eyes. His cheekbones were incredibly well defined, his jawline coming to a subtle point at the centre of his chin.

If Yuya wasn't so emotional, he would have been swooning. He let out a laugh through his tears and shoved Yuri's mask into his hand. He placed his now free hand on Yuri's face, stroking his cheeks lightly, relishing how warm they were to the touch.

Yuri's expression was a nervous one and he was blushing furiously.

"There he is…" Yuya simpered, cupping his cheek.

The corners of Yuri's mouth slowly turned upwards into a tentative smile. He leaned into Yuya's hand and exhaled deeply.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I think you're-"

Yuya stopped himself as he realised everyone around them was either moving off the floor or stopping to gawk at their bare faces. The music had ceased.

It was time.

Panicking, Yuya let out a frustrated cry.

"I don't want this to end…" he whispered, staring into Yuri's eyes.

"Yuya…" Yuri placed his hand on Yuya's cheek once more.

"…it doesn't have to."

At that, Yuya couldn't control himself anymore.

He pulled Yuri's face towards his and leaned in, pressing their lips together. He didn't close his eyes. He wanted to see Yuri's face, to see every expression, every movement, every emotion.

His lips drifted slowly over Yuri's, savouring their touch, taste and feel. He had found someone real, someone genuine. Was he flawed? Probably. But should that matter? No. Right now, right here, he was who he was. No façades, no false pretences… no masks.

As they kissed, as the whole world stood and watched in silent disapproval, the only noise to be heard was the sound of their two masks, falling effortlessly onto the ballroom floor.


End file.
